White Christmas
by notbang
Summary: It was Christmas – not exactly her favourite holiday. Never had been. She most likely would have been destined to spend it alone – yet again – too, had it not been for the surprise appearance of a certain someone...


**Title: **White Christmas

**Rating:** G

**Genre:** General – with a little bit of J/MP romance if you stand on your head and squint. Pure fluff to be interpreted as you wish – friendly-ness, shippy-ness…

**Summary: **You don't get one. Just read it.

Oh yeah. It's a Christmas story. And it's July. Oh well.

You get that.

_'You, my friend, are taking advantage of my hospitality. Not only did you turn up here, unannounced, but you've proceeded to eat me out of house and home.'_

Parker had cast a rare, playful look at her companion as she'd watched him eat, her usually glacially ice blue eyes narrowed in obvious amusement.

_'Your appetite will never cease to amaze me.'_

She hadn't received much of a reply, but then again, she hadn't been expecting one. This particular member of the species was all for genial conversation, but he was also very fond of his food, something she had taken awhile to realize, though she supposed it figured considering her cupboards were always almost bare.

Humming with contentment – an action that had surprised even herself – she had slinked into the lounge in search of the glass of champagne she had left there, calling over her shoulder that she'd be back in a minute. Once she'd located the missing beverage, she'd raised it to her lips to swirl the liquid and take a drink before perching herself on the edge of the sofa for a moment.

She was still sitting there, just thinking.

It was Christmas – not exactly her favourite holiday. Never had been. She most likely would have been destined to spend it alone – yet again – too, had it not been for the surprise appearance of a certain someone whom she had first sat down to dinner with two Christmases before. It had been a begrudging act, but she pinned the blame for her defeat on his tendency to look at her in such away that she was helpless not to give him what he wanted.

'Con artist,' she grumbled, though there was a hint of affection there.

Her father had blown her off at the last minute; something that never really surprised her and yet had never failed to disappoint her, either. It had become somewhat of a constant in her life – if you couldn't rely on Daddy to stand you up for dinner, what could you rely on? Not much, she figured. There were always the basics – for the sun to come up and go down again in the evening. For Broots to cower and Sydney to ponder. For Wonderboy to escape by the skin of his teeth, every single time.

And, of course, his appetite.

_Plus sleeping habits_, she added, smiling when she realized he'd dozed off in her absence.

It was an adorable site, even she couldn't deny it.

'Trust you to fall asleep on Christmas eve, of all the times you've refused to sleep in my presence,' she said, unable to resist touching her fingertips to the silky hairs at the back of his head. He stirred in response, and two dark eyes blinked open.

She could see the world in those eyes.

It was a world of dreams; dreams that may never come true but seemed that much more closer to being a reality when she gazed into those orbs and lived all the hopes she'd been secretly harbouring since she was a little girl.

Those eyes took her back to her childhood; a modified one, where she spent time with her family and had birthday parties where she'd dress all in pink and invite all her friends - because she'd have lots of those.

It was funny, because in those kind of dreams, she'd always remember the finer details – like the miniature strawberries decorating the ribbons in her hair, the shiny pink nail polish she must have begged her mother to put on her. She never recognized any of the faces of her friends, and she understood that to be because they'd never really existed, but her dream self knew them and that made it all better some how. Her dream self would laugh and have fun and eat cake and as long as her dream self was happy, for awhile, the real Miss Parker could feel happy too.

She wondered, sometimes, if he was even aware of the places she went when she looked into his eyes. If he comprehended, even just a fraction, how powerful his gaze could be.

He blinked again, eyes fluttering in sleepy bemusement, and she guiltily withdrew her hand. She hadn't meant to disturb him. He could catch up on some shuteye if he really wanted to – she wasn't exactly going anywhere and he didn't seem to be either. She didn't have to rush off to work the next morning owing to the holiday, something which surprised her considering that the Centre wasn't known for offering out breaks to its employees. She could talk with him to her heart's content the next morning because she'd be home all day and there'd be nothing better to do.

Not for him, and not for her.

'I still can't believe I let you stay,' she sighed to herself. 'I'm getting soft.'

_Damn you, Jarod!_

But then again, she owed the guy a lot. Looking into those eyes supplied her with more comfort than she'd known in a long time, and she silently cherished that sense of inane security more than she was willing to admit.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her fingertips together, remembering the soft feel of shiny sleekness beneath them. Soft and sleek like the hair of a boy she'd known many years ago; a boy whom she'd told her biggest secret and whom she'd kissed once, on the mouth. A boy who, certain circumstances aside, she'd probably kiss again if there wasn't so much making it impossible.

_Except that boy isn't a boy anymore._

A sacred word; a name, whispered in secret. A chaste brush of lips as innocent as two flowers bumping together in the summer breeze. A shared understanding, mutual affection, easy camaraderie and a connection that went deeper than flesh and beating hearts into the soul.

Those eyes weren't the eyes of that boy but they were capable of reminding her of him because though the boy wasn't a boy anymore it didn't mean he didn't exist; he, too, like a girl that had disappeared one day after watching her mother die in an elevator, was still lurking so very near. She supposed that was what made her love those eyes all the more; they not only reminded her of the boy but of the girl as well, and although now she knew that what had happened was more a nightmare than a dream, when she was reminded of that little girl she could see, even for an instant, the world the way that girl had.

All the small things, the things that didn't seem like much but could mean a lot if you really thought about it.

A positive world, full of hopes and dreams.

A world where it was possible to be happy.

'Thank you,' she murmured, not caring if he couldn't hear. She had to say it. 'Thank you for taking me back there.'

He was well into the realms of sleep by now, and she watched as he twitched ever so slightly in his slumber, every so often letting out a gentle chuff of air.

He was beautiful.

And then, she had to sit down. She had to sit and observe him because the image of serenity was so powerful to her. Peace radiated from him and she tried to feel it too.

'You know, Daddy was supposed to come around for dinner tonight. He promised me. Like always,' she said, glancing over to where she had made a start at preparing a formal meal, only to abandon it halfway through when she had realized he was never going to come.

They'd settled for something much simpler.

Again, it didn't matter that he couldn't hear. She needed to talk to someone and it had always been easier this way; opening up was hard for her and maybe if she just got it out in the open now, next time she could do it looking someone in the eye.

'I don't even know why I bother. Every year, it's the same… I guess I'm just not ready to give up on him yet. He's done a lot of awful things, and he's hurt me, more than I can count… but he'd still my father.'

Her eyes rimmed with tears, and she willed them not to fall, refusing to let her father's let-down ruin her evening.

She'd slipped into quiet reflection when her cell rang. Lifting her head from the hand she'd been resting it in and sliding her elbow from the table, she pushed herself to her feet and made her way through the house to locate the device.

'What?'

'You do realize you're talking to a rabbit, don't you?'

She smiled at the sound of his voice, not even bothering to ask how he knew. She was long beyond that and well into the world of believing it was possible to Just Know.

'He's not a rabbit,' she said, wandering back to find her companion as she spoke. Forgetting her earlier decision to let him sleep, she lifted his currently inert form and carried him over to the couch, where she sat with him in her lap.

After a moment of pause (during which she could vividly picture Jarod frowning, wondering how exactly to interpret that piece of information), he asked,

'Oh? Then what is he?'

She didn't answer directly, because he never did, and they were one big game of give and take.

'When I was a little girl I used to spend a lot of time on my own, especially after… after my mother died. Even before then, Daddy was usually busy and she wasn't always around so I had to find other ways to… entertain myself. Christmas was one of the few days we spent together as a family. I used to make the same wish, every year – that it would snow so hard that we'd be stuck inside.'

'You were wishing for a white Christmas,' Jarod said, understanding.

Oh yes, she decided. It was quite obviously possible to Just Know.

'One Christmas my mother gave me a rabbit, and he was one of the best friends I ever had. I used to tell him everything.'

The rabbit in her lap, whom she'd contemplated naming after the annoying cretin that had given him to her, but had decided against upon further thought, now had the somewhat unfortunate luck of being named after that particular childhood friend of hers.

The aforementioned childhood friend, who, incidentally, had been a rabbit also, had been called Christmas on account of it being white (and, of course, a Christmas present). It had occurred to her on numerous occasions that it wasn't exactly a normal, or even completely sensible or entirely mature, name to be giving her pet, but nothing about her had ever been normal or completely sensible or entirely mature anyway.

She made a quiet noise of amusement.

'He died a year or so later from a 'mysterious illness'. I wanted to hold some sort of funeral service for him but Daddy wouldn't let me. He told me that it was silly to be getting upset over some animal. But for that eighteen months… it hadn't seemed so lonely. I'd forgotten about him, up until… up until this little guy turned up – exactly two years ago today.'

'And how is he doing?'

'Fine,' she replied. 'Just fine.'

'And you?'

'Also fine,' she replied wryly.

'I'm glad. And it's good to see you're not spending Christmas alone.'

She let out a breath of air.

'What about you, Jarod? Did you find yourself some company to share the spirit with?' she asked, the dry tone failing to mask the soft smile on her face.

'I'm staying with some friends of mine. You should see the Christmas tree. It's huge,' he told her, and she detected awe in his voice. Christmas was still a big novelty for him.

He paused again.

'It's snowing here.'

She blinked, understanding the implications of this confession.

But instead of making a comment about his current location, as she would have done on another day, she asked,

'Is it everything you ever dreamed of?'

Her voice was barely above a whisper, and so unlike her own that it sounded strange to her ears.

'I'd always thought I'd die before I got to see it snow,' he admitted. 'Your stories were great but feeling it… seeing it for the first time was amazing.'

'Tell me about it,' she said softly, and somewhat sleepily.

She allowed her eyes to close as she listened, her hand stroking the soft white pelt beneath her fingertips to a silent rhythm. In a little over twenty four hours it would be back to the status quo but for now, she could allow herself this one moment of warmth. Of contentment. Of normality and… belonging.

And so Jarod acquiesced to her request; describing in vivid detail his first encounter with snow, a few months after he'd first escaped the Centre. His words flowed with the ease of someone who had been telling stories all his life, his tone warm and even slightly intimate, helping her believe, just for a short while, that things were perfect and there was nothing between them and they could be best friends forever without the Centre standing there and stopping it from happening.

She drifted, losing herself in the musical timber of his words, and when he gently said her name, by means of questioning if she was still there, she responded with a satisfied,

'Mmm?'

There was a brief silence before either spoke again, and it was he who eventually broke it.

'Happy holidays, Miss Parker.'

There was a beep, and the spell began to wear off almost as suddenly as the call was disconnected, but she was willing to let it take its due course. Languidly opening her eyes to look down at the small bundle in her lap, she realized she'd failed to answer one question.

'He's not a rabbit,' she reiterated quietly to herself as she lowered her cell, raising her pet to eye level, to press a soft kiss to his nose.

'He's my white Christmas.'

**AN: If there's any mistakes whatsoever in this story, just thought I'd say that I haven't even seen Not Even a Mouse (a fact I am trying to rectify, believe me) so I don't know the finer details/backstory behind Jarod giving Miss P the bunny. I'm just totally addicted to bunny-ness (hint – icon!!), and decided I had to write a bunny story.**

**I also have no idea whether or not it snows in ****Delaware****, or, more accurately, where Miss P lives (does Blue Cove even exist?) but I figured no because I don't think I've ever actually seen it snowing there on the show, but then again I could be wrong. **

**So if there is anything at all that isn't right, please let me know so I can fix it up.**

**I think the pacing is a bit off… but, yeah. I don't particularly like reworking my stories straight after writing them… I need to leave them a couple of months or so and then go back. But since I'm also incredibly impatient I usually go and just post them as they are there instead of waiting.**

**Apparently, "patience is a virtue".**

**If so, I guess I'm just not a very virtuous person.**

**Yeah. I'll… stop babbling now.**


End file.
